And I needed this man. I stripped out of everything, and his eyes blazed with a wild intensity as he drank in the sight of me.
“You are so fucking sexy,” he rasped.
He shed his boxer briefs. My breath hitched as his cock sprang free, thick and hard.
He wrapped a fist around his length, stroking, and I nearly combusted.
“You are too,” I murmured, entirely aroused.
And maybe he wanted to do bad things to me. Maybe he wanted to tie me up, to talk dirty to me, to have his way with me. But tonight, he seemed intent on one thing only.
Making me feel spectacular.
He reached for a condom from the nightstand drawer, rolled it on, and then gently but possessively spread my legs open. He rubbed the head of his cock against my wetness, and I groaned, letting my head fall back onto the pillow, savoring every single second of his touch.
Right then, I had no regrets about how long it had taken us to get to this place. Because all the buildup, all the longing, all the nights filled with the sinful temptation of John Winston had come to this.
To this man sinking inside me like it was the only thing on earth he wanted to do.
I gasped his name as he filled me. “John.”
“Mindy,” he whispered in return.
My name was sweet, but on his lips, it sounded filthy. And it had never suited me better.
The moment was perfect.
Made more perfect by the way he took control, stretching my arms over my head, gripping my wrists, kissing my neck fiercely as he fucked me.
Hard. Deep. And with so much passion.
He stared at me, his voice rough and hungry. “I have wanted you for so long. Thought about this so many damn times. Kicked myself for not taking you out sooner.”
With each admission, he drove deeper, punctuating his truths with pleasure.
There was barely anything for me to say in return. I wasn’t even sure I could form words. Not with the way he stroked inside me. Not with the way his hands gripped my wrists. Not with his words, smoky in my ear. “Spread your legs for me. Hike them up. Let me go deeper.”
I did as he asked, and pleasure swept over me in wave after hot wave. He let go of my wrists, grabbed my thigh, and pushed my leg up higher still.
Opening me.
“Yes, that’s so fucking sexy, so fucking perfect,” he said.
Holy hell, did I ever feel appreciated.
Especially when he wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, pushed up on his hands, and gazed down at me. His lips parted, and he whispered my name like a prayer. Like a promise. “Mindy Gamble. I appreciate you more than you could ever know,” he said.
His words unlocked me.
They sent my pleasure galloping to the horizon, to the far edge of want.
And then into bliss as I shattered, coming hard with the man who’d been an incredible friend.
Who was an even more incredible lover.
I expected him to follow me, but John was a determined man.
And he seemed determined to wring more pleasure from me first.
He flipped me to my hands and knees, banded an arm around my waist, and took me.
Just took me.
And if this was his bad cop, I wanted to be a very naughty girl.
He slid a hand up my back, grabbing my hair, tugging it.
I yelped, and he groaned. Then I surprised myself by saying, “Again.”
He needed no more permission than that, grasping and tugging, pulling hard.
I moaned as pleasure built again, and my belly tightened.
He groaned too, sliding a hand between my legs, stroking me where I wanted him most, and sending me tumbling toward another climax.
“It’s so good,” I breathed. “I’m close, so close.”
“Come for me, sweetheart. I want to hear you a second time, the sounds you make.”
It was the “sweetheart” that did me in.
The endearment in the middle of this excruciating ecstasy.
It was all I needed to fall off the cliff. He followed me there, his throaty noises thrilling me as he joined me on the other side.
He asked me to spend the night, and I didn’t mention how it seemed inevitable that I would. I just appreciated his asking and said yes.
As he wrapped an arm around me, spooning me in the dark, he said softly, “You know what I think about New York?”
I tensed, worried what he would say. “What’s that?”
“That you should spend as much time with me as you can before you go.”
I was quiet for a moment, examining my conflicted reaction to that. Hell yes, I wanted to spend all my time with him while I had the chance. But at the end of it, would he really wave goodbye to me without looking back?
“They haven’t officially offered me the job,” I said, hedging my answer.
“They will.” His arm tightened around me. “Any business would be damned lucky to have you.”
It was the perfect thing to say, supportive and full of confidence in me. But it left me feeling empty all the same.
10
Mindy
I’d only flown to New York for a day, but it had been a long one, and I hadn’t been able to nap on the plane. Bleary-eyed, I rode down the airport escalator, opening my Uber app as I headed for the exit. I almost missed John waiting by baggage claim.
Not true—there was no missing John anywhere, and no matter how tired I was, every nerve ending came alive as soon as I was near him.
Especially since this was unexpected and thoroughly welcome. He swept me into his arms and into a kiss that was all the more delicious because they were numbered.
“Well?” he asked when we broke it off for air and public decency. “How did it go?”
“Must have gone great,” I said, “since they formally offered me the job.”
“Not to say I told you so. But I did.” Without a trace of smugness, he took the strap of my carry-on bag from me and put it over his shoulder. “Congratulations. This calls for a celebration.”
“I have a few ideas how to do that.” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively.
“So do I.” He put his hand on the small of my back to usher me outside, where it was comfortably warm compared to the airport’s air-conditioning. “Your place or mine?”
I laughed. “Mine, because I need a good night’s sleep to tackle all the things I have to get done in two weeks.”
John stopped walking, like he’d been rooted to the ground. “You have to move to New York in two weeks?”
A bit of alarm slipped through with his surprise, and I tried not to react to that as I answered. “I start in two weeks. It’s sooner than I expected, but I can stay at the hotel until I find a place to live.”
Was he upset by the thought of my moving away? If so, why couldn’t he have said something in the bar on Saturday night, or in bed that night, or during any of the four days since? I’d asked his opinion about the job in New York, and he’d been so supportive and encouraging, but all he’d said about . . . us was that he wanted to spend all our time together until I left.
Or maybe the reality of my leaving had just hit him. It hit me on the plane, somewhere above Kansas. Nerves and excitement had carried me through the day of interviews, meetings, and introductions. But once I slowed down, I realized I had to make this—us—work somehow. I had two weeks to figure it out.